Terrible Things
by crack-the-glowsticks
Summary: Future!Klaine fic with flashbacks. Life comes crashing down in the course of minutes, Kurt reminisces. Rating may change.
1. What About Breakfast at Tiffany's?

**A/N. Hey guys, Ellen here. So I got this idea when I was at work, not sure how, but yeah. I'm sorry in advanced because it will make you sad and it will make me sad, and I'm sorry. I'm not really sure how many chapters it will end up being, but I think I've got a bit of direction…. hopefully. Anyways, I hope you guys like it, and if you do, then reviews are helpful, but not necessary, I'm not going to push you. I just hope you enjoy what I write and don't hate me too much. It's loosely based off the song "Terrible Things" by Mayday Parade. Listen to it at the same time for cries. Okay, here you go. Chapter One. Enjoy. (:**

The door slammed shut behind him. Kurt didn't even realize how much force he had incorporated in one single action, and how he didn't even realize the sound it made or how that affected the shaking of the table and the clanging of the keys. Or the running of four year old footsteps down the wooden floorboards into the entry hall he now stood in. How he was still standing he wasn't quite sure. He'd never really experienced an out of body experience Brittany and Rachel had once spoken about, but it was at that moment that he felt like a ghost, floating above and watching exuberant jumps and leaps and twirls towards the lost and confused and broken man. And then suddenly there was an armful of little girl with brunette hair in a pineapple bun brushing against his unshaved chin. The feel of the smiling child with the beautiful, long eyelashes that she knew how to work to her advantage- far too well for such a little girl. And suddenly he was standing again, but the feeling of being so out of place wouldn't quite shake away.

"Hi papa K," she breathed out as she turned her beautiful green eyes too look at the tall man.

"Hi Katie," Kurt managed to reply, he wasn't too sure how he managed. And he could feel the throb of tears and depression and pain at the back of his throat, and the prickling of his eyes had begun and he wasn't too sure if Katie had noticed.

"Papa K, what's wrong, daddy?" Turned out, she had noticed. God damn it. He couldn't do this. He couldn't. He couldn't ruin her day, he couldn't wipe that smile of her face. He couldn't sit with her on the couch and fall asleep in each other's arms with _Breakfast at Tiffany's _playing in the background and a snowfall of white tissues on every square inch of black leather. He couldn't. He just couldn't. But he knew he had too.

"Oh nothing Katie-pie, just had a really big day." There was that lie. The same lie he'd told his brother, and his sister-in-law and the cashier that served him in Wal-Mart on his way home from the hospital. It was like maybe, if he repeated the words enough, they would become true. And the day would never have happened and then all three would be sitting around watching _Breakfast at Tiffany's._ But that wasn't the case. And he was left to lie to his four year old daughter. And they were the same person enough for her to know that her father was lying.

"Daddy, lies never get you anywhere," she started, damn that girl was smart, "why are you lying to me? Why are you sad daddy? Why do you have tears in your throat and a red nose and tissue burn and why haven't you shaved? And why are your eyes wet and look like you haven't stopped crying all day? Is it Grandma Carol? Where's papa Blaine? Why isn't he here to make you happy again? If we watch the movie you love so much, will that make you feel better daddy? If I call daddy and get him to come home and make you tea? I don't want you sad daddy. Why are you sad?" The questions poured out of her mouth, and every new one she asked made Kurt even sadder. The cries in his throat were stuck. And he knew he would have to let them out, but he didn't want to scare his daughter.

"Whoa, slow your roll there little me." Kurt tried to make a joke out of the bombardment of questions. It didn't quite work. Somehow, the four year old had inherited his signature 'bitch-please' look and thought it was the appropriate time for it to make an appearance.

"Come sit down, Katie." He started, despite the chokes he held back. "I need to tell you something, and it's going to make us both sad, and I'm going to cry, and I think you will cry, but afterwards we can just watch whatever movie you want and eat as much Hershey's as you would like and then we can fall asleep. But I have to make you sad, and I'm sorry. But you need to know."

"Okay papa," somehow, she didn't seem fazed. Her eyes had lit up at the promise of her favourite chocolate, but she could see the tears brimming and the laugh gone from her dad's face, so she simply nodded. "To the couch?" she questioned, again.

"To the couch." And Kurt took her hand, led her over to the couch. And sat her down on her favourite cushion Carol had made before they had lived in this house. And he backed into the kitchen to get her that juice she loved in her favourite Harry Potter sippy cup because he couldn't bear the smell and the smiles and the stains and the tears and the memories. And in that moment of brief realisation, he took a deep breath, tried to cough away the chokes and tears in his throat and walked back over to his daughter. The best thing in his world.

Terrible


	2. By The Time I Was Your Age

**I hope you don't hate me. I don't really have the clearest idea as to where this is going, so until then feel free to make your own conclusions . But until I figure that out, here, have when Kurt met Blaine in a playground all those years ago.**

There was a picture standing on the fireplace. It was a picture of two little boys, sitting in a sandbox, with a paper lunch bag full of PB and J sandwiches and apple juice boxes. They'd built hundreds upon hundreds of sandcastles the day that photo had been taken. Sat in the backyard from breakfast till dinner and passed the time aimlessly, as four-going-on-five year olds would. Next to the wedding photo, and the photo they had with Katie, this was Kurt's favourite photo. It was the beginning of his everything. And some lines of a song he had heard so long ago seemed to escape his lips. And his voice shook and didn't sound right, because it was tied together with the chokes of the afternoon, but somehow the raw-rimmed eyes just made it so much more real. _**By the time I was your age I'd give anything, to fall in love truly was all I could dream. That's when I met your father the boy of my dreams, the most beautiful man that I'd ever seen.**_

~~~OOO~~~

They first laid eyes on each other the first day of kindergarten at Lima Heights Elementary, both terrified, neither wanting to let go of their nervous mothers. The teacher, Miss May, a master by this stage at prying kids from mothers, removed Kurt and Blaine within minutes of each other, saving Mrs Hummel and Mrs Anderson from dead legs and any worse of a case of separation anxiety.

"Come on boys; let's go do some finger painting yes?" May asked; a smile on her face, perfected after her years of teaching four year olds, just like these two boys.

The question was replied with another outburst of cries from the both of the boys, and somewhere within that moment, blue-green met hazel. And in the twinkling of interlocking four year old eyes, somehow they both managed to let go of their mother's legs; with a sigh of relief from the two women, join hands with each other and follow their kindergarten teacher to their newest of a series of exiting adventures three year old dreams think of when awaiting their birthday, without uttering a word.

"Hi, I'm Blaine," the older looking, black haired short boy muttered, drying his cheeks, attempting to remove traces of tears, as they entered the building. "I don't like being away from my mummy. I really am a big boy though. Don't think I'm a girl because I've been crying." Almost tripping over his own feet, he somehow managed to make it up the 5 or six or so stairs.

Kurt couldn't help but giggle his innocent and high-pitched laugh, "I don't like being away from my mummy either Blaine, it's just not cool." He stuck out his pale and ghostly hand, "I'm Kurt." And with that a smile appeared on both of their faces. It was strange how it seemed to mirror the other. The corners of Blaine's lips would turn up at the exact same moment that Kurt's did. It was like there was something that connected them. The two boys were far too young and naïve and engrossed in their new friendship discussions of their favourite television shows to notice this, but their kindergarten teacher did.

From where she was talking to Kate Hummel and Dakota Anderson, and the rest of the mothers and fathers who had dropped their children off on their first day, she read her speech, not off paper. Rather she spoke what she had just seen in Blaine and Kurt's mirrored smiles.

"Every year, I get a child that surprises me the most. Who makes me stop and miss being a four year old, and the adventures and friendships and spilt milk and birthday cake. And there's always the moments when I realise how horrible growing up has been, because I can't cry over grazed knees, and hug my mother's legs because I don't want to leave her that day. Every day, I see children sleep harmless, uninterrupted sleeps, full of coloured imagery and flying birds and chocolate and unicorns, and wake with as much energy as they did that morning. And I see them try to spell their names, and build sandcastles. Every day I see children holding hands and hugging and jumping rope and looking at picture books and talking nonsensical things about what they heard their parent's talk about that morning. Or pretty pictures they've seen hanging up somewhere that mother's promise to take them. And there are always the girls that show promise of being sensible and the boys who show a life of loss. But every time I get a new class, I prepare myself for something new. Something amazing. And there's always one child who manages to show me something different. There's always the one who defies everything and gives me hope, and I think I just saw it. I saw something that will give me the confidence and the courage to help me get along with your children. I saw love in a place so new, so raw. So ignorant to the outside world. So young. So naïve. So innocent. So pure. So free"

She gave the parents an opportunity to take in her words, before she continued. "I ensure you; your children are in safe hands. So now I must tell you all to get lost. We have finger painting and fort climbing to be doing!" She finished with a smile, much to the amusement of the would-be nervous parents, comforted by May's words.

Kate and Dakota waved at their boys from the gate they exited out of. Catching the other woman's eye, they couldn't help but smile. Not even fifteen minutes into the first day of kindergarten, and their sons were already walking across the playground, hand in hand, to sit on the swings. Carefree. Young. Innocent.

"I think you and I will be seeing a lot of each other over the year, Dakota." Kate smiled as she and the other mother parted, thinking of the smile on her sons face.

"I look forward to every play date."

~~~OOO~~~

The year passed in the way the mother's expected. As did the next year as they entered elementary school. The two boys would take turns each day in going to the others house. They built cubbies out of bed sheets and chairs, ate peanut butter and ice cream, played dress ups, playing mummies and daddies and had tea parties, lots and lots of tea parties. And they always ended the hours in the same way. With a hug and an Eskimo kiss.

They had first seen it on a movie Mrs Anderson had watched whilst the boys were at home. Well, it looked like a boring movie to the four year olds, but they had seen two people, unrecognisable in their parkas and padded warm clothes, rub their noses back and forth against the others, to warm up the other.

And so, ever since, their afternoons and sleepovers and vacations spent at the beach house and afternoons by the local pool and tea parties and imagination games had always ended in held hands and Eskimo kisses. "I hope this keeps you warm tonight. " Kurt would always say first.

"Because you don't deserve to be cold."

And Blaine would finish, and then one or the other would leave with his superhero backpack and they would repeat it over and over again the next day, and the next. And it was just a cycle for them. So much so that Miss May had started calling them Inuit's in kindergarten, and somehow this had translated into their parent's vocabulary also.

And it was good that the two mothers got along so well also, normally coming along on the house of the day with the son and talking the afternoon away about their husband's jobs, and where they were planning to go that summer.

You see, Blaine and Kurt were what you would call two peas in a pod. If one of them had been a girl, then the way they acted around each other would have made the other mothers in the playground go "Aww. And you wanna know something? In 25 years they'll be married and you'll be grandparents."

But they were two little boys; immune to the hate and the violence and the prejudice and ignorance and discrimination and deaths and sadness. And their mothers didn't like to think too much of the future. Not when Kurt had broken his right arm one day, and Blaine fell off the same swing the next day and broke his left. If ever there was a competition for 'best friends who are the same,' hands down. They would have won.

So the years of innocence ticked on, and the wrists healed, and they stumbled and fought over who wore what to tea parties, and what movie to watch, and what to drink with Anne's lasagne, or Dakota's mash potato, or how they would pass summer afternoons where there was too much sun and not enough shade. And the two boys passed through elementary school side by side, hands held and hugged at the end of the day. And they would always, always part in the same way. Even when Kurt had to go with his mum to the doctor's, or Blaine had to go visit his grandfather in the nursing home. The promise of tomorrow would always be sealed in the most innocent act of an Eskimo kiss. "I hope this keeps you warm tonight"

"Because you don't deserve to be cold."


	3. Can I Tell You A Terrible Thing?

**Okay, it's 11 o'clock at night, I have a biology exam tomorrow, and I think I have a sleeping disorder. This is the product. Special shout out to my best friend Susie and to Brittany for their help on this chapter. I still don't really have a clear idea on where I'm going, and I might change this a bit tomorrow, but until then, get your tissues ready, enjoy and please REVIEW? :D **

~~~OOO~~~

Katie was asleep. She had cried herself to sleep. She wouldn't stop. It seemed to continue for hours. A never-ending Niagara Falls of four year old salty leaks. If ever there was a heartbreaking moment in Kurt's life, this was it. It's funny how one earth-shattering action can lead to a domino effect. Like one thing happens and then poof! The whole world has tumbled down and there's no one there to put everything back together, because the person who was playing with the pieces in the first piece got so tired of nothing happening that they just gave up.

Giving up.

God that felt like a good option right now, it really truly did. It would be so easy to resort to his old ways. To take the blade out of his razor. To raid the medicine cabinet. Living in his own house, he had so many options. He could jump off his roof if he wanted to. And had he been ten years younger and daughter-less, he probably would have.

But it seemed that It wasn't meant to be. Because at that moment a pre-set collection of photographed lights brought him back to the earth-shattering reality they called his life. There was a pretty, if anything-generic, canvas of the Eiffel Tower in the spare room, across from which he was now slumped. It was funny how a common black and white symbol could bring back so many memories, and promises, and hopes and dreams. And secret whispers under the sheets of his parent's house. And that first day that they had met. Or the second day. The first time of the second meeting.

But most of all. Most importantly. It was the mark of loss, and despair. And the dying of a eight-going-on-nine year old boy who couldn't bear school without his best friend and his hugs and his Eskimo kisses. And maybe that's why it was so important to him right now. For at the same time, the canvased portrayal of iron, a whole ocean away, meant hope for Kurt. And for Katie.

And right next to the canvas was a pretty black frame of the two eight year old boys, in their cowboys and Indians dress ups. They were grasping desperate un-calloused and unscarred hands for the last time.

~~~OOO~~~

The summers were spent much like afternoons as they grew older, except when they dressed up Blaine went for the cowboy look instead of the princess. And he started watching football with his own dad and Burt sometimes instead of cooking with him and Anne. But that was okay, it really was. Because they were still best friends. And even when Blaine made new friends down at the park and would hang out with them some days instead of Kurt, that was okay, because they'd still watch Disney movies and eat popcorn when he was done, and do things only eight year old best friends do.

And they still Eskimo kissed. It was just their thing. They never really did it in public, so no one ever really questioned them. And they were still too young to understand a lot of things, so they didn't really care. And they seemed to be immune to the feint cries of 'fag' they heard the one time they warmed their noses against each other in the park's sandbox one day, and they didn't think about it.

Because it seemed like a grown-up trouble, and they were far too young and having far too much fun to be worried about silly grown up things.

~~~OOO~~~

"Kate?" Dakota Anderson called out. She knew the boys were still at the park, her husband and Burt had been on Klaine patrol that day. Yes, Klaine patrol. Those boys were a handful sometimes, they needed serious supervising, but that wasn't the point.

"Dakota? I'm in here." The other mother, her own best friend's voice penetrated from the kitchen. It carried with the smell of freshly baked cookies. Mm.

"Hey," she stepped around the bench island to give the floury woman a one armed hug, "are you never not baking?"

"Have you met your son?" The two women laughed. Blaine was the big eater of the pair.

It was funny the way they spoke about the boys sometimes. As if they were both the other's son. Making them weirdly interconnected at some level, but really just made them feel easy, and at home.

"That's a true fact. Actually, that's sort of what I wanted to talk to you about. Sort of. Kind of…" She trailed off. There was something in her eyes that Kate wasn't used to.

"Sure, what's up?"

"Michael got a promotion."

"That's fantastic! Congratulations!" she went to hug her friend again, but stopped when she saw something else in her eye. "What's wrong?"

"The promotion comes with a transfer…"

A silence held over until she continued.

"We're moving to France. Paris to be exact. In a week."

Kate couldn't move. She was open mouthed in shock. And emotion. Her best friend. Her sister, the other mother to her son. She couldn't. But support was clearly what the woman needed. So with some ounce of fake ship and strength, she offered her congratulations.

"Can I tell you a terrible thing?" Dakota asked through her hiccups of tears.

"Sure you can."

"I don't want to go."

"That's perfectly understandable. Your whole life's here."

"No, that's not even the reason. It's…"

But somehow Kate knew what she was about to say.

"Does Blaine know?"

"No, Mike only found out last night. We were going to tell him today. I just don't know how to. Or what he's going to say. What if he doesn't understand? I heard him sleep talking last night. I don't know how often he does it. But he was hugging his pillow, and saying I love you. I love you. Over and over again. And I wondered who he loved. And then he said Kurt. And I think my heart broke. I mean. He's eight years old. It's a bit early in life for me to rip his heart out of his chest isn't it?" Her eyes were glassed over by the emotion. A combination of upheaval, and distress, and somehow hormones or something crazy like that thirty-something's weren't supposed to worry about.

"He'll understand." She hugged the other woman. A proper one this time. And she let the stray cries dampen the tea-towel over her shoulder.

Because at the same time, she was thinking of Kurt. And the pain that would appear in his eyes when she had to tell him that there would be no more dress ups, or tea parties, or sleepovers, or bake-offs, or those blessed Eskimo kisses he cherished.

Dakota was far too right. Eight was an awfully young age to rip a heart out of a chest like it's nothing but a piece of paper, so flimsy, so delicate, so precious, so easy to destroy.

And behind the wall, caught in the moment between running in for a cookie, he had heard everything the two mother's had just swapped. Those words that may have sounded like an eight year old would not comprehend, but he had. Dakota was right. Blaine was too young for his heart to be ripped into a gazillion pieces. And so was Kurt's.

They could be ripped apart, together. But it just wouldn't work if there was an ocean between them. Kurt was young, and maybe he didn't understand everything. But he knew how horrible everything would be if he didn't have his best friend by his side every day, and his Eskimo kisses and his hugs every night. And the interwoven hands and the shared clothes and the snuggling in the single beds of their rooms as they watch The Little Mermaid and Mulan.

You couldn't do crazy best friend things like that when your best friend lived in another continent. And Kurt tried to get his legs to move, to move into the kitchen to grab some cookies and for his mother to see his tear-rimmed eyes, or to go back to Blaine, and cuddle him until he left for the night, and they did their extra-special best friend Eskimo kisses.

Because he only had five more chances left.

What if he never saw him again.

His mummy was right. He was too young. Far, far too young to feel this confused and heartbroken.

~~~OOO~~~

Stepping out of the guest room with the photo and the canvas, Kurt flipped the light. And he locked the windows and the doors as he moved back to his sleeping pile of four-year old preciousness on the leather couch. He couldn't bear to move her, he didn't have the strength.

Once upon a time he had thought eight an awfully young age to have everything destroyed, and for a child's heart to be ripped and twisted and crushed and ignored. If his eyes had been dry before, even though they weren't, that last time he looked at his daughter, still showing evidence of tears, right before he slept, brought on a cascading torrent of tears. He held her tight. Wishing for the world to be better to her, then it had been for him.


	4. You'll Always Be My Best Friend

**A/N: I don't really know about this chapter. It took me a lot longer to write than the others, and I don't know if I got across the right emotions and feelings that I wanted to. But regardless, posting now that my exams are over, please review, I believe it will be help me a heap (: ENJOY**

**~~~OOO~~~**

It's funny the way dreams act.

They say it's a reminder of the last thing you thought of until your breathing finally evened out. But sometimes, it's like your brain takes these thoughts, and matches them up to something else, another memory from a lifetime. And patchworks them together with pretty cotton and somehow, even though they shouldn't, they fit. And the two meshed memories have become the dream. And it's not one of those dreams that leaves you entangled in the blankets, or makes you wake up in a sweat.

No. It's one of those dreams that you remember for the whole entire day, until you go to think about it again, and maybe write it down, and then it's gone. The dream's gone. And the way the sand was supposed to feel, and the colour of the trees and the shirt you were wearing, swept from the face of the brain in a moment of thought. So you just have to try and not to think about it, but let it consume you at the same time. Do you know the type of dreams? The dreams that leave you waking up in a wet patch on the pillow, where your eye was only seconds before, but somehow, you can't remember why you were crying, because the dream was so happy. But maybe it's because it was so happy, that somehow it makes you sad.

"Maybe the world's just a fucked up place," were the first words to leave Kurt's mouth as he rolled over the next morning, almost crushing his daughter where she was still curled into a little ball.

Kurt had had one of those dreams. It was beautiful. It was everything. Somehow, the reminiscing he did last night, matched up with the talk he'd had with his daughter, and the smell of antiseptics, and the visit to the cemetery, and the feel of rain on his eyelashes, brought back a series of mismatched events form whenever and wherever, but somehow, they all fitted into the reality of what had happened.

He'd had dreams of a lifetime of memories. Of before he was eight and felt his life tugged from under his feet. He had memories of starry nights and sweaty foreheads pressed together in desperation. And clinging fingers and guitars and serenading in the choir room and kisses under the ocean's waves and swinging children.

But the one that stood out the most was a continuance of the memories that had flooded his addled brain the night before. How shitty life had been for him after Blaine had left the first time. Even as an eight year old, had he known what it meant; shitty would have summed it up pretty damn well.

~~~OOO~~~

After he had heard the conversation about the moving Anderson's, he thought better then to tell his best friend. No matter how much he wanted to handcuff Blaine to his side so they never would be parted, he knew that whoever was the one to tell him, would hurt him the most. And even an eight year old couldn't carry that kind of baggage along, no matter how much they themselves were hurting and broken.

The Hummel's were just about to sit down for dinner that night, the smell of cookies still lined the rooms in the house, and it smelt like safety, and like everything would be okay.

And then the door was opened and slammed shut, and a running mess of unruly black hair lifted up to show red eyes and shaking hands. Without saying anything, Kurt got up and enveloped his best friend in a best friend hug. They fell to the floor at the same time.

Kate watched on with tears in her eyes, she scrutinized the pain in her boys. Their cries couldn't be muffled, not even by the falling rain and thunder, nor the arrival of Dakota and Mike. The boys sat there in one heap, arms enclosing the other, foreheads pressed together, and the same tears falling.

Seconds or minutes or hours or days later, they finally spoke.

"I can't leave you Kurt. You're my best friend in the whole wide world." He paused to wipe his eyes and let a hiccupped sob escape his lungs. "Who am I going to do special best friend Eskimo kisses with in Paris? No one there can keep me as warm as you can."

"I know Blaine, I know. But you're gonna make lots of new friends! And you're gonna eat lots of snails! And frogs and yummy bread. And you're gonna visit that big 'A' we always said we wanted to see. And you're gonna learn another language! How cool is that gonna be?"

Kurt hoped he didn't look half as sad as he felt as he tried to comfort Blaine. It was tearing him up just as much as him, but he couldn't let him see. He had to be the strong one. He needed to be.

"You're right." Sob. "You're right, and I'll come back whenever I can. And you'll come visit me too won't you Kurtie?"

"Of course I will Blainey. We'll always be best friends too okay. Don't you forget that. Not even when you made yourself a nice group of French speaking friends to keep you sane at school. We'll always be best friends. And one day in the future, we'll be best friends in the same town together okay."

Blaine nodded his head, and wiped away the last of the tears on his face, and reached up to do the same to Kurt's cheek. He left his small palm on the taller boy's cheek for just a little while, so Kurt could lean into it. And for them to just sit there like that, until they both fell asleep and were carried up to Kurt's bed.

They woke up the next morning cuddled together. Blaine's small head against Kurt's pale eight-year-old chest. Their hands were joined in the middle, and at the foot of the bed was a pile of cookies and a CD.

"Kurt," it said, "I know you don't know how to use the computer very well, so here's a song I found. I want you to give this CD to Blaine, and it will be your song forever okay. I love you, and I'm sorry that this is happening. Love, mummy"

Kurt held the CD. Blaine wouldn't be leaving for another 4 days; he would wait till the last night to give him the special song, whatever it was. It had to be something about best friends. His mummy knew how much it meant to him. It would be a pretty song too. And even when they were oceans apart, it would bring them together.

Blaine woke. His best friend looked so pretty in the morning haze of tiredness and unwillingness.  
>"What are we gonna do today?"<p>

"Everything," Blaine answered.

~~~OOO~~~

The two boys spent the next couple of days with each other every minute of the day. The played dress ups, hide and go seek, went to the park and swung on the swing set, and see-sawed, and built sandcastles, and baked cupcakes and brownies, and watched Disney movies, and sung songs, and gave each other lots and lots of Eskimo kisses.

But somehow, their full full full days made time go too quickly, and soon enough, hey! It was Saturday night and it was Blaine and his mummy and daddy's last night in Lima, and Kurt wouldn't see his best best best friend in God knows how long.

They spent their last night together, lying down on the bit of roof under Kurt's window where they could see the stars. They weren't saying anything, but they had their hands clenched tight, but it was funny how the two boys had a pull. Like they could always tell what the other was thinking or feeling no matter what they were saying otherwise. It was some weird telepathic connection that got annoying sometimes, but right now it was their saving grace. As both of them were leaking silent tears, that deafened the heavens.

And suddenly, Kurt was up and through the window, bringing his CD player towards them, and the opening chords of a song strained the air. And then Kurt's hand was back in Blaine's. But his eyes were locked on the little circles of hazel he'd first looked into three or so years ago.

_I wish I knew you,  
>way back when, <em>

__It was their first day of kindergarten, neither the boy with the pretty brunette hair or the boy with the uncombed black mop would let go of their mother's legs. And there was their teacher talking about love and hope to their parents.  
><em><br>before you were a part of my plans  
>I think that we would have been friends.<em>

__It was them on their first day at elementary school, they'd sat next to each other in class, and shared PB and J sandwiches and apple juice at lunch and held hands as they crossed the school.

_There's only time to live our lives,  
>and you'll be the one that's by my side.<em>

__It was their first sleepover, they'd spent the afternoons playing dress ups and having tea parties with Kurt's stuffed toy collections. And they'd watched the Little Mermaid and Mulan because they were their favourite movies, and they could both sing, so they sang along to all the songs, and fell in fits of laughter when their voices turned stupid. And they'd fallen asleep holding hands.

_and I can promise you that,  
>you'll always be my best friend.<em>

__It was a montage of Eskimo kisses. It was a mosaic of whispering wishes of warmth and hope to the other. It was a lifetime of friendship, compressed in those short years of feeling safe, and loved, and needed, and warm.

_Till the end when we part,  
>I will give you my heart <em>

__And it was the moment Kurt found out he was being separated from his best friend. And it was some weird vision of the future where they were in uniforms, and smiling, because they were together again, and they were watching their favourite movies and eating cookies.

_and I promise I'll love you, with all that it is  
>and I'll promise to be there whenever you need me<br>because, you'll always be my best friend._

__And now it was just them, sitting on a blanket under the stars on Kurt's roof. Holding hands and locked eyes. And it was all of their memories, all of their laughs and tears and happy memories and costume changes and performances, and kitchen and science experiments and bike rides, and Klaine patrol and watching football and being pushed around in trolleys. And it was them cuddling and saying I love you, but not in a gross-mummy-and-daddy way, the other kind of way, when there's one person who means more to you than anyone else, even your favourite stuffed animal or your favourite actor.

Kurt joined in to sing the last five lines.  
><em>You'll always be my best friend.<br>You'll always be my best friend.  
>You'll always be my best friend.<br>You'll always be my best friend.  
>You'll always be my best friend.<em>

And with that, they knew it was time for Blaine to go. There were no words either of them could say to the other, but everything that had passed through one's mind in that song, had passed through the others. So with a final hug, a final squeeze of the hands and a final Eskimo kiss, Kurt whispered, "I hope this keeps you warm, always"

"Because you don't deserve to be cold." Blaine finished.

And they kissed the others foreheads and withheld the tears until Kurt saw Blaine walk across the street and get into his parents car. Kurt shouted out a final 'goodbye and I love you!' Until he saw the car pull away from his little street in the middle of nowhere to move on to bigger and better things. Bigger and better things without him in it.

And then he couldn't take it anymore. All of the tears he'd been holding in since he found out Blaine was leaving escaped in a torrent of surging salty leaks that stung like blood and made his body shake and his breathing go as shallow as it had ever been. And then there was this pain in his chest, where his heart should be. It was a hole. It was a ginormous hole in his chest the size of the Grand Canyon. And somehow, Kurt knew there would always be one there. Because Blaine was gone. And nothing would ever be right again.

~~~OOO~~~

Somehow the memories had brought back the dream he had been trying to think of and trying not to at the same time. It was him and Blaine, sitting on thrones they had had in their elementary school days. Except they weren't six or seven years old in the dream, they were their twenty-eight year old selves, with tiara's on their heads and Disney music playing over the speakers. Except they weren't really in the playground. The life-size chess board did not stretch out in front of them. They were instead on a hill. Sitting next to swings, and their thrones were deep red and purple.

Below them ran rivers and creeks, and they could see forests, and the ocean and the type of sunrise that reminds you 'Oh my god. I'm alive.' And they just sat there, in their thrones, with their twenty-eight year old selves holding hands, listening to eight year old music and seeing a work of art collectors would kill for tight in front of their eyes. But somehow, all they could see was the other.

They drank in every feature from the fleck of gold in Blaine's eyes, to the hairline on Kurt's head. The way Blaine's hands felt when they were heated by the sun and the precious way Kurt crossed his legs.

And Blaine whispered in a sing song voice, "Boy can I tell you a wonderful thing? I can't help but notice you staring at me," that made them both laugh and smile because they were untouchable. And they were in love. And they were oh so happy.

But then the earth broke underneath them and they were falling falling falling into a pitch of nothingness, and their hands were separated, and it was dark dark dark and everything just felt so wrong.

And then there had been tears and screams and shouts and laughs and hugs and kisses and then suddenly, they were atop of thrones once more, and they'd changed so much, but it was play because they had the other's hand again.

And then suddenly, there was a sound behind them, and a little throne appeared in the middle. Fitting so seamlessly in between. Replacing the clenched hands of the two men with one of her own little hands in each one.

If it hadn't been a dream, it would have made for the ultimate family photograph. It should have been the ultimate family photograph. But it wasn't. Because nothing's ever that perfect.


	5. Life Can Do Terrible Things My Angel

**I don't think I like this chapter very much. It got really really stubborn and just wouldn't really so-operate. If you liked it, tell me. If you didn't, still tell me. Reviews are fully appreciated. So please don't be too disappointed. **

He had walked back into the kitchen, with apple juice and the Harry Potter Sippy cup Finn had brought for her the previous Christmas. She had been raised right, that was one thing. But now was not the time for Kurt to remember his own fan-boyish childhood.

Katie just sat there with her too deep eyes with a colour that didn't quite have a name. Like there was speckles of gold and dashes of green, and somehow they were all thrown together in a totally beautiful, extraordinary collision they all just called Katie. The colour was Katie, because it was parts of Blaine and Kurt, and their mother's, and their father's and it was just so unique, it deserved nothing less.

With a deep breath and a swallow of a sob, Kurt sat down next to his little girl on the black leather.

"Daddy, are you going to tell me what's wrong?" She looked so sad. So lost. Like the look when you know that the truth is being hidden from you. And you feel so useless and unimportant because it's like you're not worth the truth. Damn, how could one look from a four year old transfer all that?

"Do you remember when I told you that Grandma Carole wasn't my real mummy?" He decided this was the easiest way to start.

"Sure, you and daddy told me after Christmas once. You said that your real mummy died when you were a little boy. And that you and Grandpa Burt were both really really sad when she died. But then Grandpa met Carole, and you got a brother and met daddy again and you were all happy again."

He was amazed she could remember. "Well yes, but there's more to that." He tried to form words so he could cut to the chase. But he had to be careful. She was so sensitive and yet so strong and courageous.

Courage. Somehow that one word bought back the whirlwind of memories and texts and jokes. Courage. He needed that if anything right this minute.

"My mummy died just after my best friend in the whole wide world moved to a different country. Mummy was supposed to make everything okay, and when she left, I didn't really know what to do. I was only a little boy, sure I was older than you, but I was still too young for everything to go wrong."

Katie took her daddy's hand, as he remembered everything that had happened and told her the story. Maybe she was too young to understand everything, heck he had been too young at the time. But she needed to understand.

~~~OOO~~~

Blaine had been gone for two months now. They spoke on the phone every second Saturday night at the same time. It had to be that time because otherwise they'd either be asleep, or eating idnner, or at school. So it was naturally, Kurt's favourite part of the week. They talked about everything, about how Blaine's new school was going, about how he had eaten the yummiest bread, about his new friends, about his new house, about his visit to the Eiffel tower, about him learning French, about the cat that appeared on their balcony every night. They did the same thing every time. And at the end, when Kate or Dakota would say that that was enough, they could talk more next time, they'd part with the same words they'd repeated a gazillion times. "I hope this keeps you warm tonight."

"Because you don't deserve to be cold."

Except there was no Eskimo kiss to go with it. And maybe that's why it all stopped.

Kurt was always the one to call Blaine. It worked out cheaper that way. So Blaine was always the one waiting for the calls, bouncing up and down on their couch in Paris, waiting for the phone to ring it's now-familiar dial.

Except this time, it didn't call when it was supposed to. It didn't even ring five or fifteen or one hundred minutes later. His mummy and daddy were out that night. He'd been left at home with the daughter of one of the men his daddy worked with, so he couldn't ask them why Kurt hadn't called.

He went to bed that night feeling super-duper empty without being told to stay warm by his best friend who he missed enough as it was. Not a clue of why he hadn't called.

But calling Blaine was the last thing on Kurt's mind that night.

Burt and Kurt had been watching 'the big game' when it had all happened. Well, Burt was watching it; Kurt was flicking through his mum's fashion magazines, when the phone rang. With his eyes glued to the television, Burt moved to pick up the ringing piece of technology. "Hullo" he grunted.

When suddenly, Kurt watched his father's eyes go from enthusiastically glued to his television, to a look so empty he could see his father's heart. Well what was once his father's heart. He saw it break, right there in front of him, whilst he held the phone to his ears. And then he dropped it and then he collapsed.

Have you ever seen a grown man collapse so suddenly? Like his body sieges and then he just crumples to the floor without a moment of warning, and then there are tears falling from eyes that should have always stayed dry. And you cannot do anything. Can't do anything, but stay where you are, and watch. You watch the man who protects you, the man who kept the monsters under the bed away at night, fall apart at the seams.

And then suddenly through his scary phase of crying broken-hearted tears, he finally speaks, and by the time he does, Kurt wishes he never did. He wants to take back those pleading looks he gave that said, 'tell me what happened, dad?' because not knowing, is so so so much better than the truth.

"It's…" He couldn't start. He couldn't tell his son, he couldn't. He couldn't even believe it himself. How the fuck was he supposed to break his boy's heart any more. "It's your mum Kurt."

"What about her? Does she need us to come pick her up?" But Kurt knew it wasn't that. The eyes and the crumpled man and the inability to look him in the face, he knew.

Burt breathed deeply, trying to dry his eyes, but failing, didn't move his head. He didn't raise it too look at his son. Because he couldn't. Because… "She's gone, Kurt. She was in an accident."

Eight year old eyes just looked at his father with confusion, and wanting him to say that no, he was just lying and that she'd be home in five minutes time with pizza. But the punch line didn't come and Burt didn't stop crying and he still wouldn't look in his son's eyes. And then it hit him. His mum was gone. She was gone gone gone to a place where Kurt would never see her again and she would never tuck him in at bed time again and she would never wipe away the tears he had shed. And she would never tell him that he could ring Blaine now because he'd finished his dinner and she would never tell him again to eat his carrot and peas.

Never again would he feel his mother's gentle touch or perfect kiss on his sore finger. There would never be another sweep back of his hair on school picture day or wash his hair after a big day. He would never hear the words 'I love you' come from her mouth again. He would never feel truly at home in the embrace of her fragrance. She was gone. She was never coming back.

And somehow, Kurt had made it up into his room. But he couldn't move to the bed. It's like somehow, his legs had carried him away from the one person who would understand loss, but wouldn't move him towards the place he might feel a little bit safer.

But no. He was slunk against his door and his room smelt of perfume. His mummy had cleaned his room just this afternoon. And everything was in its place and she had spritzed her eu de perfume before she had closed the door to go do the grocery shopping. And now that he was there all he could do was cry cry cry. And somehow, no matter how many times he would wipe away his tears with his little unscathed eight year old fingers, the cheek would just keep becoming all damp and shiny and salty again. And there was no one else to wipe away the tears or scare him out of hiccups. So he cried and he cried and he shed tear after tear at every thought and memory until he fell asleep. And he couldn't really dream properly because he was still crying. You weren't supposed to cry in your dreams were you? Weren't dreams supposed to be happy? And who would scare away the nightmares now? And he woke up in the morning still slumped on the floor, somehow his body had moved down over the night and his back was sore sore sore. And he was about to get up and to ask his mummy to rub some Deep-Heat on it before he remembered why he had fallen asleep there and why nobody had come in to fix it.

His mummy was gone gone gone. And she was never coming back.

And then he remembered Blaine (what a silly time to remember other things he knew) and how he was supposed to call him last night, and how sad Blaine must be feeling because they didn't have their best friend talks.

But then Kurt snapped out of his mind zone and went downstairs to wake his daddy from where he fell asleep on the couch. And he still won't look at him.

And Kurt knows that on that day where he lost his mummy, he also lost his daddy, and his best friend.

Because his daddy hates his eyes and his smile and the way he is Kurt. Because he was supposed to be Dakota and Burt's Kurt, and not just Burt's.

And his best friend would just never understand and Kurt can't handle trying to keep something else alive when everything is just so ruined.

But most of all, Kurt can't handle not having cuddles and kisses from anyone.

And he knew that he was sad before, but that was when he really truly felt his heart break and his world tremble and everything, everything, everything go wrong and bad and every synonym a young boy who just lost his whole life can think of.

~~~OOO~~~

"It took a long long time for my daddy to be able to look at me in the eyes after my mummy died." He brought himself back to reality, drying the corners of his eyes. "And when he did, I asked him why he didn't look at me for those months after my mummy died. And he told me that he couldn't look at me because every time he did, he saw my heart breaking. Because I didn't have a mum, and my daddy couldn't take the heartbreak of his son as well as himself so he just tried to forget about me, even though he couldn't" And he knew he wasn't making much sense.

"I think I just reminded him too much of everything he had lost on that day and he didn't want to be reminded of that every single day." He felt his daughter's stare. "Is this making sense to you?"

"Sort of. You were both very very sad. And you should have been, because it would be horrible and not right to lose your mummy and for Grandpa Burt to lose his wife."

He could have cried. "And at the same time, I should have stayed in touch with my best friend because he would have helped me the most, but I just couldn't. Because he wasn't going to come back and make everything okay and that's what I needed the most."

But when he did start being able to look me in the eyes again he told me that he had wished he had sung me this song that night that she had died. And is it okay if I sing it to you now?

She still seemed confused, hell she had every right too. Why the fuck was he unloading his past, one he swore he'd keep away from her, at this moment.

And then he remembered the way his day had turned out and holy fuck what had happened and he started shedding salty water and Katie looked like she felt so so useless.

And somehow through his tears, he continued to sing that song in his pretty voice, "now love, I'm only, telling you this, because, life, can do terrible things to you."

And then he sang a little bit of the song Burt had once sung to him, the night everything died.

"_When I see your smile__  
><em>_Tears run down my face__  
><em>_I can't replace__  
><em>_And now that I'm strong__  
><em>_I have figured out__  
><em>_How this world turns cold__  
><em>_and it breaks through my soul__  
><em>_And I know I'll find__  
><em>_deep inside me__  
><em>_I can be the one_

And as he was singing the song to his daughter, he couldn't help but think of a time when he and Blaine had sung this too each other. When they'd promised they'd always love and support the other. And this act of remembrance brought so much more meaning into his song.

__

_I will never let you fall(let you fall)__  
><em>_I'll stand up with you forever__  
><em>_I'll be there for you through it all(though it all)__  
><em>_Even if saving you sends me to heaven___

_It's okay. It's okay. It's okay.__  
><em>_Seasons are changing__  
><em>_And waves are crashing__  
><em>_And stars are falling all for us__  
><em>_Days grow longer and nights grow shorter__  
><em>_I can show you I'll be the one___

_I will never let you fall__  
><em>_I'll stand up with you forever__  
><em>_I'll be there for you through it all__  
><em>_Even if saving you sends me to heaven__"_

And as he finished he let Katie take in the words and to see something cross her face, but for the first time in forever he couldn't figure it out. So he let her sit there with that look in her eyes to match whatever was in Kurt's eyes before he could continue.

**A/N: The song is "My Guardian Angel"- Red Jumpsuit Apparatus. **


	6. But It's Empty

_**A/N: Sorry guys, I had the biggest bout of writers block for this. And I'm still not entirely happy with this, but I just felt the urge to publish something, to let you and I both know that I haven't given up on this fic. Pretty please read and review. And enjoy.**_

_**~~~OOO~~~**_

Katie sat still, watching her daddy think about things she would never know, waiting for him to continue, to tell her where her other daddy was, and why he looked so so so sad. But Kurt still couldn't bring himself to speak the words he needed to. Because he needed Blaine to help him. Because Blaine had always helped him.

~~~OOO~~~

But now all he could think about was Blaine. Always Blaine, who he'd promised, that spring morning in a marquee set up in Central Park that he would love Blaine forever and ever until the world stopped beating and the waves stopped fighting and the wind stopped searching. And there were a mountain of memories that was just Kurt and Blaine that no matter what would never leave. Despite anything and everything that had ever happened.

Like the emptiness Kurt had felt when Blaine and he had simply stopped. When his mother was dead and his father regretted him and he went through his every day with no smile on his face, but with tear stains on his cheeks. And nobody ever thought to ask him what was really truly wrong, because they all just thought it had been losing Dakota, when really, it was something and everything more.

It was the emptiness he felt when he woke up to the sunlight. It was the way the eight, then nine then thirteen year old felt that he did not deserve the happiness of the sun to wake him in the morning, because happiness had left his own life when he was so young.

It was the way he made friends with girls like Mercedes Jones and Rachel Berry, whom he loved to absolute pieces, but who were just simply, not Blaine.

It was the way he watched Finn Hudson's lips from across the classroom and feel an uncomfortable feeling in his pants when he turned thirteen, or the dreams he had when he awoke in a mess and was too scared to do anything, when really, his mind had been going wild with thoughts of Finn and Blaine and Leonardo Di Caprio when he was young. And it was strange, because they were being taught that it was normal for boys to dream about girls in such a way (for surely, the happiness he felt when he'd woken had to be a dream), but it was weird, because it was always always always boys and faceless men in his dreams, and he meant to ask somebody, but he couldn't.

Because it was the way that nobody understood him. Because he couldn't talk to anybody because, he lived in Ohio and everyone was close minded and so set in stone and so much everything he hated.

But most of all, it was the way the thunder clapped on dark dreary nights, where he longed for a mother-made hot chocolate to share with his best friend as his father told them stories of 'when I was a young boy'.

~~~OOO~~~

By the time he was fifteen, Kurt had finally understood the meaning behind the dreams where men excited him, where women were supposed to. And his father descended into his basement room and he muttered, "Dad, I'm gay."

And his father had known. Because maybe it was the way he had dressed up in his mother's clothes, even after he'd forgotten she had died, and all the cooking he did, and the make-up he wore because it made him feel closer to the person who made everything better. But it didn't matter. Because his father knew the truth, and he himself finally knew the truth.

But he couldn't help but think how much he'd wished he could have talked his confusion out with the boy who knew him better than anything. He hadn't told Mercedes anything about his confusion. Mainly because she had developed a crush on him, but mostly because he just couldn't. At first that was, to be honest, she was the first person he had ever 'come out to'. He just didn't think she understood him to the same extent Blaine Anderson should and would have. Maybe though, it was because Blaine always had a recurring position in many of Kurt's 'wet dreams' , as his father had explained to him, one on of the many occasions he had attempted 'the talk' with him. But Kurt never listened when he had tried, merely stuck his fingers in his ears and sung _'la la la.'_

So he sat down one night, when he couldn't sleep because he was starting to get harassed for his clothes again, took a piece of pretty paper and a pen and wrote a letter to Blaine, saying all the things he had wished he could say to him right now.

_Dear Blaine.  
>How are you now? Are you still smiling the smile that made the nightmares go away? Are you still eating yummy bread? Have you climbed to the top of the world yet, like I knew you always would? Have you fallen in love and fallen in hate? Have you cried much? I know I have. But I just want to know, are you happy? Because you, always you, of all people deserve to be happy. Sometimes when I was sad, I would think about you and your hands in mine, and I would remember all the times we conquered the eight year old world together with matching smiles on our faces. And I wonder if you still wear that smile, even when I can't. Maybe I should tell you why I'm not telling you this in your chalet in France or even over the phone.<em>

_Because, the reason I stopped calling is because the world ate me up and told me I couldn't be happy. Because my mummy died and my daddy couldn't look at me and you were an ocean away and couldn't hold me in the night. And I was eight, and so empty and I look back and realize how sad and not right it was that I could be so young and so broken. Because you should have been there to put me back together and I should have let you. And I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I hate you for leaving, when really I hate myself more for pushing you away._

_I just want to let you know that I'm not happy. Because I'm gay, not that that matters, but it does because the world doesn't seem to like it. Dad's okay with it, but it's not the same. And, well, I guess the point is that, I figured that I should tell my best friend forever about it, because he deserves to know. And yes, you're still my best friend forever and always because really, I dream about you every night, and the smiles we should have had and what we'd be doing now if you were here in Lima or I was there in Paris. _

_Do you miss me like I miss you? Because I never once stopped missing you Blainey, and I want you to know that. I always love you._

_Your Kurt._

He was so absorbed in the writing on the page and the tears streaming down his face, he didn't hear the opening of the door or the descent of footsteps on the stairs, not until his father stood over him and saw tears on his face.

"Kurt…"" he looked and sounded extremely worried. "Are you – what's? – Is everything okay?"

But Kurt couldn't respond, because everything was crashing and he didn't know what he was supposed to think because God, how the fuck did his life turn out so shit.

"Kurt, I need you to tell me what's wrong. Why are you – Why are you crying? Who are you writing to?"

"Blaine."

They let the word hang over in the air. Because, since the night Dakota had passed, they had never spoken about him, even though he was always on Kurt's mind.

"Why – What – Why are you writing to Blaine, Kurt?"

"Because he's the only one that ever understood it all dad, even when we were little and innocent so naïve it hurts. And I know he would know about it all now. And I miss him. And he'll never get this letter, but that doesn't matter. Because I miss him so much and I wish he was here instead of there and it's not fair that everyone always leaves me. Like Blaine and mom and you and everyone else. It's not fair dad, and I'm sick of the taunting and teasing and the empty nights and the blank but pretentious looks from everybody because they don't like who I am. And I don't like who I am dad. And Blaine would have understood." And he couldn't stop himself, the tears streamed down his face and chokes echoed throughout the basement and yet his father remained silent.

"Kurt, why didn't you tell me that? All these feelings you hold up down here."

"Because you would never listen. You couldn't even look at me for two years, how the fuck was I supposed to tell you all of that without you I don't even know. I just couldn't dad."

Burt looked taken aback, Kurt had never sworn in front of him, but right now, he didn't even care.

"I'm sorry Kurt. I'm so so sorry." And he enveloped Kurt in the hug that apologised for the months he couldn't look into his baby blue eyes or listen to his pearly laugh because he hated the memories. And it was apologising for the slight disappointment in his sexuality. And it was an 'everything will be okay Kurt, no matter who you love, I'll never stop loving you' hug. It was a hug that brought forgiveness and sorrow and sweet yet bitter memories and the love they were sorry they never brought about.

And hey, his dad was crying now. Well, that was new.

"I know that maybe's not the right time for this, but I want you to know, that I'm seeing someone."

But Kurt looked taken aback, how the hell had they gotten to this so quickly?

"You remember Carol that you introduced me to?" Kurt nodded. "Well, I've started to drive her to work, and well, she's something Kurt. Let me tell you that, she's really really something."

But Burt wasn't expecting the radiating and beautiful Kurt to appear on his son's face he hadn't seen since Kurt and Blaine had spent the night with the sugar bowl and Disney Princess movies all night. And that made Burt smile and tear up again.

And through his own tears, Kurt muttered, "I'm so happy for you dad. I really – really am."

And he was. Because his dad, of all people, as well as Blaine of course, deserved to smile because they felt the love to make it through the night.

And his dad could have read his thoughts.

"One day soon Kurt, you'll find a boy that makes you smile that smile every moment of the day."

"Thanks Dad"

~~~OOO~~~

"I'm sorry Katie; I keep avoiding the thing I keep trying to tell you. But do you understand how much it's making me so sad to even think about it?"

For as a five year old, she was incredibly intelligent, a mix of Kurt and Blaine's brain topped with curly black hair with baby blue eyes. The perfect combination of everything.

She just took his hand.

"I know daddy, but please tell me. I love you."

And he whispered the words in her ears and watched the fat tears roll down her cheeks, and at the same moment they both whispered the same two words to themselves, to the world.

"I'm sorry."

And Katie sat in Kurt's lap and he let her hair dry his tears, and his shirt soon became completely soaked in five year old sorrow because of the words that broke her heart.

Because the world was the cruellest of cruel places. And it was no place for young hearts to break. But fate just sort of seemed to hate them all, didn't he.


	7. Lost Without You

**_Hi, I'm having one of those nights where the stars are too bright and my head hurts too much because I'm harbouring too many emotions. Also, I'm extremely tired and stressed, so I don't even know what I've written really, and I probably won't like it when I read it in the morning, but until then, here, a new chapter. Also, I like reviews. I don't get many. But they do help. Please. Okay. Bye._**

~~~OOO~~~

"Kurt!" Oh Kurt!" Opening the door he hadn't looked at for a night and half a day had him met with a mid-air tackle from his father and step mother.

And he had told himself, chanted over and over in his head, that despite the hugs and the pleas for breaking down, that he would remain strong. He would not let Carole and Burt see him in the state he'd been after he'd left the hospital. He'd promised himself that. But, well, promises get broken all the time didn't they? And now here he was, in the foyer of his and Katie's home, surrounded by his second mother's warmth and her honey and home smell, and the tears were pouring from his eyes, and they wouldn't stop. Chokes long since held tight in the back of his throat were released in bitter and broken cries of 'help, I'm broken.' And Carole could do nothing but hug him as tight as she could and tell him that, really, "everything's going to be alright Kurt."

"No - no i - no it's not." And now the hiccups were starting. "how the hell" hiccup "is it" hiccup "supposed to" hiccup hiccup "get better when he's" and the hiccups were caught with sobs and cries and he was broken, shattered in a million tiny pieces and Burt looked up from hugging Katie in the most terrified look. Because he didn't know what to do. How the hell was he supposed to piece back his son, when he'd done such a horrible job himself.

But Carole seemed to know what to do. He hoped. And so did Kurt. Because his eyes were bleeding dry, and the tear stains were leaving permanent markings on his cheeks, and that was probably the saddest thing.

"You need to go start making some arrangements. That's what we're here for. We've got her" And Carole, the kindest woman in the whole entire world it seemed, looked at the perfect angel that was forever Kurt and Blaine's with tears in her eyes. But she looked back at the man who was her second son, and saw so much more. So much brokenness and pain and yearning and searching for a way to get out of the maze, she could have heard her heart break.

"Go on upstairs if you need to. Go look at old photos and cry and remember all the good times. But for now, Kurt, please don't remember the last few months in those rooms that smelt of death. Blaine wouldn't want you to remember that part."

And she was right, he knew of course, damn it.

"Go on upstairs, Burt and I will keep Katie occupied, I'll make you some tea if you wish, maybe we can talk later. Or you could just sleep."

Sleep sounded good.

No.

He mentally slapped himself on the head. He wasn't supposed to sleep. Because that's where the monsters came out and they would be horribly bad again tonight because well, death followed him everywhere and he wasn't ready for the night to take him anytime soon.

He trudged up the stairs to open the door he hadn't been able to bring himself to open since two days ago.

Because breathing it in, it smelt like sandalwood and coffee and oranges and cologne and it was a smell they had yet to put a name on at the perfume place, but to Kurt, it would forever be Blaine.

With the most painstaking glazed look in his eye, he somehow made it to the wardrobe that was littered with photo albums; he knew he had to start ringing people and organising things, but the how hell was he supposed to do it in this state? SO he rummaged through until he found what he was looking for, the lilac leather bound photo album that held the memories from their time at school. And there, right on top, was the picture someone had taken of Blaine and Kurt, in all their sixteen year old, private school boy innocence, holding hands as they made their way down a classically decorated hallway, that time they'd laid eyes on each other for the first time, the second time.

~~~OOO~~~

It was junior year, and there were daily slushie facials and locker pushing's to be looked forward too. Oh and better not forget the time he'd fallen in love with a boy that was to become his step brother, or the one that used lemon juice in his hair, and really was secretly gay, but didn't appreciate his attention. 'Life,' he told his diary, 'is so utterly crap right now. Why the hell am I even alive.'

Because he knew it wasn't getting better. Rachel was winning all the solos and he and Mercedes had seemed to drift apart. And well, he was completely lonely.

And the Glee boys had told him to go spy on the Warblers, and because, he had nothing better to do, he'd obliged, merely for the prospect of being surrounded by hundreds of guys, and there had to be at least one out guy there, didn't there?

So here he was, in a place that felt like somewhere where everyone belonged, so seemingly out of place, but in the moment it didn't matter.

And he was lost, so very lost, so out of place. What the hell was even going on? There were hundreds of boys he could have asked for help, but, oh, he had nice hair.

"Excuse me?" He tapped said boy on the shoulder and watched him whip around to meet his question.

What he hadn't been expecting was for the one boy he'd asked for help in the midst of a stampede of blazer-cladded, extremely attractive boys, to turn around and bore his heaven-meets-earth-combined-with-gold eyes right into his soul. And it took nothing but a spilt second to remember tea parties and dress ups, sleepovers and hugs, to remember the dreams he'd had and the times he'd cried, all of those times, wishing Blaine was there, by his side, stealing his kisses in the black of night. And he hadn't been. And he thought he never would be.

"Hi, I'm new here. Can I ask you a question?" He waited for recognition to flood Blaine's eyes, but it didn't.

"My name's Blaine."

Oh. Wait. What? HELLO! He wanted to yell. How could he not remember me? Kurt's mind was reeling.

"Kurt."

But then something crossed across his face, and yes, there was definitely a look of 'holy shit, how is this even - what' in his eyes, and his lips looked confused, caught between the urge to smile because the person he missed most in the world was standing right here, with perfect sea-blue eyes staring at him, or frowning, because Kurt had been the one to leave him in the first place.

"Kurt?"

"Hi Blaine, remember me?"

"What - what the hell are you doing here?"

But then the stampede took up again, and they were being carried along by hormone fuelled boys eager to skip class in hopes of picking up moves to use, or something like that.

Blaine took his hand, the wrong hand though, because they were running down an elaborate hallway that Kurt kept trying to take in, but the positioning was so awkward, and there was so much to see, so much to feel. Because he was in an unfamiliar place, with the most homey of homes touching his hands in the most relaxing, yet unfamiliar awkward way. Because he knew they were headed for a long overdue talk.

He was right, of course.

"As soon as I finish this performance, you and I have to talk, it seems."

And they were in a room, obviously the senior commons, and there were hundreds of boys dressed in dapper blazers and pants, eager to support the club that gave their school a name, other than just being prissy-rich boys. And well, the Warbler's didn't disappoint at all.

Because how could they, when Blaine was leading them, with his perfect pitch and gelled down hair, moving to the music, getting lost in the words of Katy Perry. And it was so breathtakingly beautiful to watch, because in the moments Blaine was entranced by the power of such simple music, Kurt could remember times when they had danced around the living room, or the cubby house, or the mall, without a care in the world, just like Blaine was now. Prickles started to fill his eyes. Well, it had been a stressful number of weeks, surely a flood of happier memories and the reappearance of the boy who made everything better was cause for him to be overly emotional and for tears to fall. But they couldn't. Because Blaine, Blaine with beautiful hair and perfect ears and piercing eyes that saw everything, was looking straight at Kurt, burning holes to the depths of his soul, him too, remembering falling asleep holding hands and watching Disney movies. And he was lost in the music, and childhood happiness, and Kurt was here. And he could tell him everything.

_Be your teenage dream tonight._

Kurt, of course, was the first to break out into ellaborate claps of applause, and Blaine, being the lithering idiot he was, just had to go and wink at him in the most seductive way he knew how. Fuck.

~~~OOO~~~

Thirty one year old Kurt Hummel remembered the proceedings of that fateful rendezvous so well. Because they'd gotten coffees in an unspeakable silence, both waiting for the other to bring up the chain of words that would send memories and tears spewing from their mouths.

"So…." Kurt had tried to start the conversation off. "When did you come back to Ohio?"

"Oh. Um, two or so years ago?"

Kurt nodded.

"Dad got transferred back, Paris was getting a bit, ugh, too much work."

"And you've been at Dalton all this time?" There was another question burning in his throat, but Kurt hadn't been able to get to that right away.

"Well, no. I went to Meris for a while, but I was, um, harassed there, for reasons I'd rather not talk about right now, and so I came here. It's just so much safer." His voice trailed off, it was heartbreaking, the sadness that was clearly so obvious in Blaine's voice. All Kurt had wanted to do in that moment was to lean across the coffee table and take him into his arms and murmur sweet nothings in his ears about how everything would be okay. But Kurt didn't even know the problem at hand.

"And you like it here then?"

It seemed the safest thing to say without professing how much he missed Blaine with everything he had.

"Yeah, I love it. Especially the Warblers. Best sort of escape there is."

They both just nodded, in the awkward silence where they drank coffee in sync.

"What about you then, Kurt? What are you doing here?"

"Oh um." Crap. "I got sent here to spy on you guys, scope out the competition or something."

"Oh, so you're at McKinley?"

"Yeah." And he had never meant for his voice to sound that sad. But maybe it was a good thing, Kurt remembered now, because from there, everything had set into place.

But then he was just gone. There were tears brimming from places he never even knew oculd hold sadness. And his lips quivered in the most terrible type of sadness. He had never felt so broken. And Blaine watched him fall apart at the seams, and suddenly, he surrounded Kurt with the most recognisable sense of home and safety and 'everything's going to be alright, Kurt, I promise.'

And Kurt's sobs were caught in Blaine's blazer and he just didn't stop. Not even when Blaine murmured, "it's going to be okay." Or, "Whenever you want to talk, I'm here." Because, Kurt realized, Blaine was the problem wasn't he. Karofsky and Sam and everything else was nothing compared to Blaine. Blaine, who was holding him against himself; protecting him despite everything, it just felt so right.

"I – I can't talk about it – I can't yet."

"Shh, it's okay, when you're ready, I'm here to listen Kurt, I promise."

And Kurt knew he wasn't lying.

~~~OOO~~~

It was funny, Kurt thought, as he slid the photo back into place in the album, with tear stained cheeks and swollen lips from the sadness that kept eating at him, that the talk that would define the hate Blaine had had for him, had instead been the reminder that they were the only two people in the world, and no one else mattered.

And Kurt curled himself up in a ball, thinking over everything they had talked about when the sobs had died down and they were under stars, and every word they'd exchanged since then.

And once again, Kurt fell asleep clutching his pillow, tears falling in the absence, forever absence of his everything.


	8. Letting go of the Nights

_**I haven't slept properly in forever, and my mind is reeling with emotions and a hundred different ideas, hence, I have no clue what I've written. Review please!**_

**~~~OOO~~~**

His dreams were different this time though, a constant tunnel of colours of carnivals, and sounds of the wind, the feel of naked bodies in the middle of a cold winters night and the freshest of tastes of togetherness. Indeed, every corner his mind swerved, there was Blaine. But it wasn't a sad type of remembering, as he thought. And there were no evil monsters fulfilling his deepest fears of seeing Blaine disgruntled on a road or torn apart, limb from limb by a crazy psycho as he'd often night dreamed before. No, it was all happy. It was all Kurt and Blaine - happy and in love, soft touches and warm stares; untouchable and forever.

~~~OOO~~~

It was weird, the way that they had slipped so seamlessly, so easily back into the other's lives. Morning and afternoon coffees, weekend movies, nights spent studying together, as if time had never passed. As if Blaine had never left and Kurt had never cried.

Eventually, Kurt had broken down the wall and told Blaine everything. He'd told him about his mother, about his father, about his battle with the darkness, and the constant fear that came with all the bullying.

Perhaps what had made it all easier, was the fact that Kurt was now a student that sat beside Blaine in lessons day in and day out. Because Karofsky had nearly killed Kurt, and he wasn't safe being there, being away from Blaine anymore.

At first it was clear that Blaine had doubts about letting the boy that had ripped his heart in two, back into his life again. But just one look in his indistinguishable-between-blue-and-green-eyes told him that no, Kurt was his best friend then, now and forever, and whatever it was he was battling, he would hold his hand and dry his tears. So he did. And he just fell harder and harder all over again.

When Kurt had plucked up the courage Blaine had helped him gain, to confront the bully, he'd been there to get him through it. When his dad had gotten married and he'd needed a date, there he had been, dressed to the nine accompanied with a little white rose. They'd sung side by side against New Directions, gossiped about teachers and taken care of the Warbler. They just seemed to forget that they weren't supposed to do these best friend things anymore, because they weren't really anymore.

And one night, they both seemed to realise this at the same time, as they sat on Blaine's bed in his boarding house at Dalton, studying French and Chemistry, when really their heads were both reeling with what had just happened. And feeling their breaths rise and mingle in a weird way together. Or the way they both couldn't stop smiling, without really acknowledging what they were smiling about. Or why there were teeny tiny tears welling in the both of their eyes. Kurt and Blaine just sat there, longing for the first touch, anxious to bring it. Just hoping, dreaming, wishing, the exact same things.

~~~OOO~~~

Blaine had strapped himself to his mirror, determined to make his English Lit monologue on Romeo and Juliet make a little bit of sense, but so far, nothing had worked. But Juliet was stupid, and what the hell was Romeo even thinking and the Friar made him angry in his stupidity, but not really, because Blaine was over thinking everything. And he blamed Kurt. Kurt with his perfect hips and kissable lips, and the part in his hair and the way his ass looked in his slacks. Damnit. He'd promised he'd stop thinking about Kurt, because it got him nowhere. But because it was Romeo and Juliet, and his mind was filled with Kurt, he decided to practice the speech he'd prepared to give to Kurt, whenever he could pluck up the courage.

Staring into the mirror and taking a shaky, deep breath, he began.

"Kurt there is a moment. When you say to yourself, oh there you are; I've been looking for you forever.  
>I've loved you from the moment we met all those years ago. I loved you when we built sandcastles and played hide and seek. I loved you when we played dress ups, and had tea parties and watched Disney movies. I loved you when I was here, and I loved you so much more when I was there, missing you. I loved you when you stopped talking to me, and I loved you when I convinced myself I hated you to make the pain a little easier. I loved you when we walked down that hallway, and when we sang together. I loved you when we danced with my head on your chest at your dad's weddings, and I loved you in the stories I wrote about us one day. And damnit – I promised myself I would never ever love you this much again, because you have the ability to break my heart into such an infinite number of pieces there's no way n hell I'll ever get put back together. But Kurt, I love you enough to risk that. To risk it all. Because you're the rays of sun that make the days brighter, and I love you, for everything you are, for everything we were, and everything I am. "<p>

He finished with another deep breath, and a somewhat sense of achievement washed over him. That was until he really looked into the mirror and notices a pair of eyes with a colour they have yet to put a name to looking straight back at him. Stars in his eyes, smile drawn on his lips, tears planted on his cheeks, breathe hitching.

"You love me?" his face was tainted with that cocky smile that made Blaine knew he had a good idea forming in his head, which sort of scared him.

"How much of that did you hear?"

"You had me at Oh! Romeo."

Crap.

"Umm." Blaine was, well, lost. What the hell.

But Kurt just inched closer, until there were his eyelashes, tangled with his own. And his sweet smelling breath was mingled in the same air, and they were but a mere closing distance from each other.

"You didn't answer my question." Kurt whispered. "Do you love me?"

"Kurt, did you not just hear – "

But he was cut off by the surprise of Kurt reaching through that final distance, and planting his strawberry-sweet lips on his own. God. Blaine never even knew lips could taste this good, or maybe it was just because it was Kurt. It was all sweet and innocent, closed mouth kisses growing desperate with the clutching of the other's face. But Kurt broke them apart, just, to mutter words to Blaine's lips.

"I love you too Blaine, always and forever."

And he rubbed his nose against Blaine's. "I hope this keeps you warm tonight." He whispered. "Because you don't deserve to be cold." Blaine finished the sentence that had played over and over in his head a hundred thousand times. And they were joined together again. Hands on neck, mouth on mouth. Tongue inching to be deeper in the other. Blaine licking the seam of perfection that separated Kurt's lips. Both begging for entry, every second bringing this kiss that much more heated. And why shouldn't it. Because Kurt had loved Blaine for forever, and now it seemed, Blaine had loved him that long too.

~~~OOO~~~

Somehow, they'd manage to bring themselves to leave the warm alcove of the others lips before clothes were removed, because it was probably too early for that just yet. But they were content. To sit there. On Blaine's bed. With books open. Not acknowledging what had happened, because the kiss was replaying over and over in their minds. Remembering the way their mouths moulded together or the way the hand on the back felt. Or the mix of breath and eyelashes.

Kurt looked up from his Chemistry book and caught Blaine doing the same. And they smiled a smile that mirrored in the others, and blushed violent shades and couldn't help but falling in love all over again.

They fell asleep that night cuddling on the bed, whispering stories of childhood days and the way the wind felt when it ran through your hair. Singing lyrics of songs that's names lay forgotten, like _'I can live without you but, without you I'll be miserable at best._ Because there were a playlist of songs that described the feelings of infinity they felt when they were there, in the other's arms. And they always whispered I love you. Because now they were happily and perfectly content with how it had all turned out. In each other's arms, where they had always, and always would belong.

~~~OOO~~~

Checking the clock as he awoke with a start, Kurt hated the night for waking him up from such vivid memories. Blaine was clearer than ever when he was in his mind. And that was beautiful, and how he wished to always remember it. 3:47. Photos were strewn everywhere. Funny, he didn't remember that. But there was one he must have fallen asleep holding. Because it was Kurt and Blaine sharing that first kiss, a fellow Warbler had stuck his head in and got it. There was Kurt. And Blaine. Happy. And so so very much in first love, finally.

Laying himself back down in hopes of returning to dream land, he kissed Blaine's photographed forehead and whispered "because you don't deserve to be cold" and sang himself to sleep with words of _I can live without you but, without you I'll be miserable at best._

For in his dreams, he entered a world entirely made of Blaine.

"You'll always be my best friend, remember."


End file.
